


i can feel you all around me

by buhnebeest



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bukkake, Cock Slut, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Gangbang, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buhnebeest/pseuds/buhnebeest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you mean this is not what the PASIV is meant to be used for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can feel you all around me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherrybina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybina/gifts).



> I wrote this a couple years ago on [cherrybina's journal](http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/200218.html?thread=13228570), now cleaned up and finished. 
> 
> Please heed the tags before reading!

Arthur is panting, too loud and wanton to his own ears, little embarrassing hiccupping noises escaping every few breaths. He’s not trying to stop them anymore, just focuses all his energy on keeping his eyes open, forces himself, because every time he closes them Eames stops, stills his fingers.  
  
“You’re doing so well, love.” Eames says, hot and quiet into his ear, just for Arthur, but of course the others hear too, and they hum in agreement.  
  
“Yes, darling, so pretty,” one of the Eameses watching adds, voice rumbling low, and the Eames stroking his fingers along the inside of Arthur’s thigh grins a little, repeats, “ _So pretty_ ,” and Arthur wants to tell them all to shut the fuck up so he can concentrate, if only he could get some fucking _breath._  
  
He’s back to chest with the Eames behind him, half-lying on a couch so ugly only Eames’ subconscious could have come up with it, mustard yellow with purple flower-print, but Arthur is beyond caring now, all attention on _Eames_ , the one between his legs, the one that’s fucking him open with three of his fingers, stroking inside. Opening him up.  
  
“Add another,” an Eames says, looking at Arthur hungrily, “Come on, he can take it.”  
  
Eames-between-his-legs smirks up at him, eyes dark as he asks, “You hear that, Arthur? You want another?” as he presses inside harder, twists his fingers _just so_ , forcing a choked-off groan from Arthur’s throat.  
  
Arthur manages a jerky nod, to which Eames-behind-him tells him encouragingly, tells him, “We’ll get you nice and loose for us, darling, you’ll see,” and Eames-behind-him’s hard dick is pressing demandingly into the small of Arthur’s back, and Arthur wants it, as he wants Eames-between-his-legs and Eames-stroking-his-thighs and the Eameses around them, hands on their dicks as they watch intently, watch _Arthur_ \- and Arthur just spreads his legs wider, tilts his head back to bare his throat.

The fourth finger slides in. Eames pushes in deep, pressing and pressing until Arthur can feel it where Eames’ thumb starts, his whole hand inside. He doesn’t let Arthur adjust either, just starts fucking, stretching him, widening his fingers and Arthur can _feel them_ , fuck—  
  
Only when Eames-behind-him shushes him does Arthur realize he’s moaning, whining, and Eames-stroking-his-thigh says, “No, I want to hear him.” Arthur tries to glare but mostly just fucks himself on Eames’ fingers, can’t try not to. Some of the Eameses watching are grinning, others focused and watching, still others making out with themselves, the narcissistic asshole—  
  
One of the Eames’ watching says impatiently, “That’s enough, give him your cock,” and Arthur groans a _yes,_ pressing back into Eames-behind-him to feel him breathe out a hot curse against his ear. Eames-between-his-legs looks up, lips curved, and he jerks his chin to Eames-stroking-his-thigh; Arthur has a moment to feel bereft when Eames’ fingers slip out of him – too empty – and then they’re _lifting_ him, and—  
  
He sinks down on Eames’ cock, thick and hot inside, a smooth glide without any resistance at all; Arthur can’t do anything but shudder helplessly, gasping, held still by too-many hands. His head lolls back on Eames’ shoulder, cheeks grazing against the stubble there, prickly.  
  
“Look at that,” one Eames says, admiringly, and another says, “Someone grab his legs, hold him still—”, and they fucking _do_ , there are hands on him, under his knees, holding them in the air so he’s splayed wide.  
  
“So good for me, nice and open, proper little slag,” Eames-behind-him murmurs, starting a hard pace fucking up into him. Arthur grabs at the Eameses holding his knees for purchase, to squeeze his fingers on, and he gets a tattooed bicep and a handful of hair before one of the Eameses says, “Give him some cocks to play with, look at him,” and another says, “Why is no one fucking his throat?"

There’s a minor scuffle over who gets to, Eames getting jealous of himself, shoving and pulling at one another like dogs fighting over a bone, and then a big hand curls around Arthur’s chin, tips his face up. A new Eames looks down at him, pressing the flushed head of his dick against Arthur’s lips, murmurs, “Open your mouth, pet,” and Arthur opens his mouth.  
  
There’s no finesse to it; Arthur lets his jaw go slack, lets Eames do whatever the fuck he wants, which is to rock in and slide his dick along Arthur’s tongue, deep, luxurious and selfish. Arthur can taste him, bitter and salt, intoxicating, and he sucks to the drugging rhythm of Eames-behind-him fucking his ass, faster and faster now.  
  
Fingers clasp around his wrists, pulling his hands to another dick, and another, and Arthur automatically curls his fingers around them, the hot weight of them familiar in his palms. He strokes them as much to Eames’ liking as his compromised motor skills let him.  
  
“So good, darling,” Eames-behind-him tells him, “You feel so good, your greedy little arse clutching at me, your pretty little mouth stretched around my cock. Fill you up with me, Arthur, I will, fill you up till you’re full of me—” and to prove it Eames-fucking-his-mouth comes, messy wet spurts against the roof of Arthur’s mouth, cock bumping the back of his throat with every inelegant thrust.  
  
Arthur swallows it all down, greedy for it, punch-drunk on Eames’ voice behind him and his lust-dark gaze on Arthur above; all their gazes around them on him, enraptured.  
  
“ _Emaes,_ ” he moans pleadingly, giddy with it, with the hungry looks it gets him, the strokes through his hair and over his skin like Eames is rewarding good behavior; Arthur begging for him.  
  
One of them says, “Hold him still, hold him—”, and then there’s soft wet pressure where Eames’ dick is splitting him open, Eames’ tongue lapping at his stretched-out hole languidly, messing everything up.  
  
“Fuck,” Arthur rasps out, bucking, or at least, he attempts to buck but he can’t move, Eames _has_ him—  
  
He comes then, shocked into it, back arching and gasping for air as he clenches tight around Eames inside him, pleasure sparking all over his skin, glowing hot and sharp low in his belly.  
  
“ _Arthur_ ,” Eames sighs reverently, echoed by awed ‘darling’s and devout ‘oh, pet’s that have Arthur dizzy, pleased, light-headed.

"Now look at the mess you’ve made,” Eames-holding-his-knee-up croons, tracing two fingers through the come on Arthur’s still heaving belly, spreading it around, warm and sticky on his skin.  
  
“Don’t waste it,” the new Eames-between-his-legs snaps, slapping at the other’s hand, “It has to be in him, he has to be dripping with it—” and he runs his own fingers through the mess, scooping, and Arthur doesn’t understand until he feels a slicked up finger pressing inside his ass alongside Eames-behind-him’s cock, then two, no warning.  
  
“Hnnng—” he chokes on the air on his next breath, tries to crane his head to look, to see if it looks like it feels, like he’s so full of Eames there couldn’t possibly be anything left of himself, dangerous but so good, so—  
  
“Oh, darling, so greedy for it,” Eames says, pushing his fingers up with every thrust inside, stretching him open even wider, impossibly. “You can take us both, can’t you?” he asks, not quite a question for Arthur, just an observation, and Arthur stares at him, unsure. How could he possibly, he’s so full already; he can feel it where the rim of his hole is straining, through the persistent thrum of pleasure he can feel a limit getting reached.  
  
A hum of encouragement travels around the room, Eames’ eyes on him nearly tangible caresses on his skin. They’re telling he looks so pretty like this, all nice and bare for only Eames to see, and they’re telling him he can do it, he _will_ do it, “won’t you, Arthur, won’t you be our good little slut?”  
  
Arthur feels nervous, a little flutter low in his belly, because Eames wants him to but what if he _cant_ , what if he can't do it and they're disappointed or angry or—  
  
“I’ve got you, love,” Eames-behind-him breathes, nipping at his ear, “Let us take care of you, yeah?” and Arthur just— yields, presses back into him.

 

*****

 

There’s a trail of sweat running down Arthur’s forehead; Eames licks at it wetly, then licks at Arthur’s mouth, past his parted lips, sliding wet and hot along Arthur’s tongue. Arthur lurches a little, drawn in, always addicted to the soft plush of Eames’ lips, while at the same time his body wants to arch back from where Eames-between-his-legs is cramming another finger into Arthur’s hole. Arthur is a little scandalized Eames would try and distract him so blatantly, if only it wasn’t working: whenever Eames-kissing-him pulls back Arthur follows blindly, bereft.  
  
Arthur is hard again. He notices when an Eames wraps his lips around him, suckling a little, and suddenly it feels urgent, suddenly he’s straining to get more, pushing his hips up uselessly, inadvertently clenching his muscles tighter. Arthur _whimpers_ , frustrated and helpless and pleasure crackling under his skin, ready to burst if Eames would just _let him—_  
  
“Want to be inside you when you come, darling,” Eames says, placating, “I want to feel you on our dicks,” and he doesn’t even look remotely fazed by how that sentence should not be possible. Arthur only moans; he isn’t fazed either, he just wants wants wants.  
  
“Do it, then, come on, Eames, do it,” he demands, doesn’t even recognize his own voice, completely wrecked, doesn’t want to think about the displeased fucking mewl he makes when Eames pulls him finger out, leaving his hole strangely empty, even though Eames-behind-him’s dick is still in there, rocking lightly.  
  
Eames-between-his-legs crouches over him, kisses him once, a deep claiming suck at Arthur’s tongue, and then he says, “Yes, all right,” like he’s doing Arthur a favor here. And then he’s pressing _in_ , pushing, relentless pressure of the size of him splitting Arthur open. Arthur _keens_ , high in his throat, too loud in the rapt silence of the room, all the Eameses staring, as if hypnotized, at Arthur as he’s taken completely, all for Eames, only for Eames.  
  
“Fuck, pet, you’re shaking,” Eames-above-him says hotly, “trembling around us, I can feel you,” and Eames-behind-him adds, “Stretched so wide, your poor little hole,” and Arthur toes curl.

Arthur stares up at Eames hovering over him, as he rocks his hips gently, experimentally, his breath gusting hotly against Arthur’s cheek. Arthur is a little dazed. He can feel it where they’re in him, where they’re splitting him open. It’s— staggering, how good it is, the relentless slide of Eames’ dicks against his prostate, the dizzying rush of them keeping him open like this, driving Arthur speechless. He has to beg with moans and whines for Eames to go faster, harder, just like that, please please please—  
  
“Yes, darling, whatever you want,” they say, and they do go faster, and they do go harder and Arthur can’t think for how amazing it feels.  
  
“I wish you could see yourself right now, darling, just look at you.” Eames-above-him croons huskily, “So pretty and lovely, full of cocks like a good little slut just for me, aren’t you?”  
  
Arthur can only gasp his agreement, because the thing is he _does_ , he does want to be good for Eames, wants to give himself to him, because Arthur just wants Eames to take everything he has, because then Arthur can demand from Eames that he give himself to Arthur, too.  
  
Eames-above-him bends down low, kisses Arthur’s cheek, then his ear and then Eames-behind-him, their lips meeting over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur can hear the slick slide of their tongues, has to swallow down a curl of jealousy through the thick haze of arousal.  
  
Eames chuckles darkly, like he knows, the bastard, and he jibes, “So selfish, pet,” but then he kisses Arthur too so Arthur doesn’t care at all, Eames can be as obnoxious as he wants as long as he keeps fucking his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and his cocks into Arhur’s ass. Both of them moving inside him, somehow hard and careful all at once, fucking him with fast alternating strokes of their hips. Arthur couldn’t move even if he wanted to; Eames’ thick arms are braced around him, four of them, bracketing him in between their bodies, holding him in place, forcing him to take it, take it all.  
  
Arthur just clings to Eames’ shoulders and listens breathlessly to the soft words of praise and encouragement from Eames-behind-him whispered into the crook of his neck, and the echoes of it from around the room, telling him how Arthur feels so tight and sweet around their cocks and how Arthur is all Eames’, isn’t he? It feels like falling, like there isn’t anything to hold onto but Eames, so Arthur crumbles and shatters apart and just holds on and on and on.

By the time he comes his skin is white hot with it, tipping him over into ecstasy that leaves him deaf and blind and dumb, until all he can do is ride the shocks of pleasure. He comes to to Eames’ hands on him, stroking all over his skin, warm and sure. It feels slick and hot inside him, and Eames is not thrusting inside anymore and neither is Eames-behind-him and they’re sighing like Eames always does after fucking, satisfied and a little smug. Arthur clasps his fingers on Eames’ upper arm, squeezing urgently.  
  
“I didn’t—” he croaks, voice gone, “I didn’t see—”  
  
Eames kisses him to shut him up, a small mercy, and then he says, “Still plenty of chances to try and pay attention, pet,” soothing and dirty at once.  
  
Eames-behind-him warns, “We’re going to pull out now. Relax, yeah?” and even though Arthur’s ready for it he still whimpers a little at the loss of contact, the inside of him gripping uselessly at nothing.  
  
Fingers press flat over his clenching hole, “to keep me in you, darling,” to keep Eames’ come from seeping out, because Arthur is too loose; it might spill, “and that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”  
  
He’s still sitting in Eames’ lap, back to chest, but Eames-above-him is moving off him now, revealing the rest of them again, all of them gazing at Arthur dreamily or grinning perversely or a mix of the two: all of them silently waiting.  
  
“Which one would you like?” Eames-behind-him croons, soft lips kissing at his shoulder blades, sharp contrast with the rasp of his stubble, “You can pick the one you like best, darling, I won’t be jealous,” and Eames is just so ridiculous, but then Arthur stares at the Eameses watching, all of them the same; how could he possibly choose?  
  
“All of them,” Arthur manages breathlessly, cheeks suddenly hot, “I want all of them.”

Arthur gets all of them.  
  
They push him forward on his knees, the carpet’s wool scratchy on his sensitive skin. He can barely keep upright, but is saved the indignity of falling on his face by an Eames pressing up behind him, holding him steady. Eames pulls at his hair until Arthur is staring up, up at six Eameses looking down at him, almost lazily stroking their dicks. Arthur is suddenly sure of what’s going to happen now, feels a hot thrill at the thought of it, so wrong, all of them coming on him, covering him in their spunk like they’re marking him up. He bites his lower lip, eyes darting between them, waiting.  
  
His thighs are trembling, muscles strained past endurance and now mostly there for show, useless otherwise. It feels good, _he_ feels good; fucked out and drowsy. The sound of Eames’ filthy chuckles and filthy praises and filthy promises shoots hot tendrils of pleasure along Arthur’s spine like prolonged aftershocks.  
  
“Do you want it, darling?” an Eames asks breathily, nudging the head of his dick against Arthur’s bottom lip as he jerks himself off, spilling precome on Arthur’s chin. Arthur lets his lips part, just slightly, likes the way Eames tuts and scolds him to open a little wider. Another Eames chuckles at him, says, “Such a tease, Arthur,” looking pleased, and he’s fisting his cock like the others and Arthur wants them to just do it, he’s _curious_ now, wants to know what it will be like, wants to taste it.  
  
“Do it, Eames, come on—” he says, distantly appalled at how that came out pleading and needy and not so much goading the way he’d meant it. It works either way; three Eameses let out a low groan and speed up their strokes, and the Eames monopolizing Arthur’s mouth huffs out a curse and then they’re coming, on Arthur, on his face and on his chest and in his hair and in his mouth. Arthur’s eyes blink shut reflexively as he feels a drip of come trickling down his eyebrow.

“Oh, darling, you’re so lovely,” an Eames groans, breathing heavily. They drop on their knees in front of him, two of them, big hands curling around his neck, cupping his chin. “So lovely.”

Arthur shudders and licks his lips, for the sharp-sour taste of come and the chorus of low groans around him: one of the Eameses kisses him, that plush mouth meeting his in a slow searing glide, even as the telltale chords of _Je Ne Regrette Rien_ start echoing around them.

“Two minutes left,” Eames-kissing-him mutters, mouthing along his cheek, smearing some of the streaks of come around. “Anything else you want, darling?”

Arthur tilts his head to kiss his lips clean.

“Just this,” he breathes, and closes his eyes to wait for the kick.


End file.
